Super Mario 65
My legs moved with great speed, as I raced back home on my bike, cartridge in hand. The man I had bought it from may have been shriveled and old, but the game was neither old nor shriveled. “Super mario 65” it read, and it was the supposed next step in video game technology. Would I finally get to see mario’s bulbous nose in realistic HD quality? Could I really reach into the game and feel his greasy hair? All these thoughts raced through my head as I ran into the house and slammed the game into my nintendo, pressing the power button with the might of 1000 suns. I turned on the TV and was met with a strange message. “No signal” it said. “What a strange way to start a game” I remarked to the empty room as I sat down on the couch, accidentally sitting on the remote in the process. The TV quickly changed to the title screen I had come to know and love, complete with the 3d model of mario’s head rendered in a glorious 480p. An uncomfortably large smile stretched across my face as I toyed with his, watching the discomfort on mario’s face exceed mine as he reacted to every push and pull of the joystick. I gleefully jumped into the game, my arrhythmic heart beating with joy as the sights and sounds of the newly remastered world filled my senses, watching mario’s loose fitting overalls flutter in the wind and listening to his footsteps pitter-patter across the castle grounds. I continued on my merry way, venturing through the bomb-omb battlefield to get my first star, when I accidentally long jumped into a wall. Mario made his signature “oomph” sound as his body collided with the hard stone in front of him, and I clapped my tiny hands together, laughing at the foley of the funny plumber man. It was only when I picked the controller up again that I noticed something was off. Mario’s movements were considerably more sluggish now, and his face looked far less cheerful than it had been seconds before it collided with the brick wall. “Mama mia, I have sustained an injury in the workplaCe.” Mario remarked, moving against the will of my controller. The screen then faded to black, cutting to mario jumping out of the painting and leaving the castle, while I frantically pressed the buttons on my controller to no avail. He entered a strange building that I had never seen before, and my whimsy was set alight once again. Inside was a fully furnished room, and I nearly fainted as I saw Mario actually sit down on the armchair in the corner of the room, and watched intently as he produced something from the pockets of his overalls. It was a paper, “another letter from Peach?” I asked, my face now mere inches away from the TV screen. I rotated the camera to reveal the title of the page: “Incident Report, what does that mean?” I questioned once more, staring intently at the parchment lying in Mario’s now ungloved hands. I gasped in awe once more as Mario’s sweaty hands grasped a hyper-realistic pen and began to write on the paper. My eyes remained affixed to the screen as he began to inscribe the situation in perfect detail. I nearly teared up as Mario described how he sustained several fractures in the skull and a severe concussion while performing his normal workplace duties, providing times, dates, and locations for each occurence. Mario finally set down the paper, and the screen faded to black once more, displaying the text: “Mario v. Mushroom Kingdom”. “Is this some sort of new boss fight?” I wondered, scratching my head in confusion. It was then that the game faded back to yet another new location. It looked to be a large, intricately designed room, with a podium at the front and several rows of seats lining one of the corners. Mario stood on a podium of his own opposite to the seating, which was occupied by by approximately 12 mushroom citizens, who were visually identical to the mushroom judge occupying the frontmost podium, save for the ill-fitting wig and pompous looking hammer. “A jury of such homogeny cannot possibly be impartial!” I shouted at the screen, realizing the context of Mario’s situation. I suddenly found myself biting at my nails as the prosecuting plumber began to make his opening statement. “Wahoo!, the conditions of this workplace do not meet the construction safety standards for the area.” he proclaimed as the jury murmured in slight discomfort. The judge stared back at Mario, and after several unnecessary swings of his gavel, called for the defendant’s case. A toad quickly ran out of the courtroom, leaving the whole audience, myself included, in silence. I had just started to doze off when the courtroom doors burst open, and the toad returned with a folded paper in hand. He ran up to the defendants podium, and began to read from the paper in a harsh, grating voice. “I, King Bomb-omb, will be delivering my case through writing, as I am not allowed within 25 feet of any federal building. The Prosecutor’s case is is based on invalid regulations, as the bomb-omb battlefield is in a state of perpetual war and conflict, exempting it from the classification of a workplace and by extension the regulations governing one.” Mario sweat visibly, and I could see each droplet of sweat rendered on his face in perfect HD. I was sweating too, as I became increasingly invested in such a landmark civil dispute. Before I could completely process the potential ramifications of the legal precedent this case would establish, Mario began to deliver his rebuttal. “The state of workplace regulations is still to be maintained during times of war” he proclaimed, his mustache dripping with sweat. The controller now laid cast aside on the couch as I nervously twiddled my thumbs, shuddering in anticipation. The toad burst through the door once more, another note in hand, though now noticeably more short of breath. He stepped up to the defendant’s podium, and after several seconds of heavily breathing into the microphone, began to deliver King bomb-omb’s defending statement. “Being that the prosecutor’s work is done on commission, the assigned location is my private property, it does not need to be constructed with the consideration of workplace safety.” He said, causing the jury to shift and murmur in an attempt to add more tension to the case. The judge adjusted his wig and scanned the room for an extended amount of time, showing the perfectly rendered models of both parties, leaving me with only my thoughts on legal procedure to accompany me. The judge then swung his gavel and delivered his verdict: “the status of the defendant’s charges shall be decided by jury vote” he announced. The jury performed a slightly different shifting animation now, leaving me enthralled at the detail of this game once again. “All in favor of the prosecutor’s case say ‘aye’” he said, but this did little more than give the jury his attention. “All in favor of the defendant’s case say ‘aye’.” The jury, upon hearing the signature call of their people, immediately responded back with a collective ‘aye!’ The camera pan zoomed to the face of Mario, wrinkly and downtrodden at the results of the jury’s verdict. Upon seeing the sadness in His eyes, I slammed my fists on the couch in an act of visceral rage, tears streaming down my face as my eyes were forced behold the tragedy before me. It was outrageous, it was unfair, it was an insult to the concept of justice itself, and yet I couldn’t look away. The game slowly faded to black and I was left with only my sorrows to accompany me. It was only then that I realized the true nature of the game’s events. The enemy wasn’t Bowser, or King Bomb-omb, or any clear and imminent threat. The real villain of Super Mario 65 was the legal shortcomings and mispractice of an incompently designed judicial system. I stared once more at the cartridge nested inside of my console, laying my eyes on the crude crayon writing used to title the otherwise blank game. I removed the cartridge, beholding its visage once more just as I had mere hours before. I couldn’t let this happen again, I don’t want anyone to experience what I had just been forced to go through. No nine year old should have to witness such a convoluted and disappointing legal trial, even if they do get to see a slightly better rendered model of everyone’s favorite plumber. I took one last look at the game, before throwing it with all my might at the open window across the room. After several failed attempts, the dull gray cartridge went careening through the window, landing right in front of the oversized steamroller parade that was passing through my neighborhood. I looked on with a feeling of pride as the game was reduced to a pile of gray plastic shards and shattered circuit board, knowing that any and all evidence of the game’s existence would be unable to be confirmed or denied by any members of the general populous. Category:Lust Gaymes